


Autumn

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 07:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17039219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Sam’s always reminded you of autumn.





	Autumn

Sam’s always reminded you of autumn; from the rich chestnut of his hair to the foresty browns and greens of his eyes. He even smells like it; has that earthy-spicy scent to him that takes you right to a fragrant Bath & Body Works in mid October.

And just like autumn, there’s a kind of crisp warmth to the man. You can hear it in the dry rasp of his laugh, can feel it in the softness of his flannel when he wraps his strong arms around you to tuck you tight to his chest––and you can taste it on his lips; woody-sweet, like honeyed whiskey.

And, just like autumn, the brightness of his smile would dim too early, set right along with the late-year sun––

And then he’d be shrouded in the darkness that’s followed him since infancy.

You couldn’t reach him then, once the night had settled around him. He was lost to you, locked inside an iron cage of self-loathing for the long winter, until spring brought him back to you again.

Until the time that spring never came: January 2nd. The day that icy blade pierced your heart out in that arctic field, promptly sentencing the hunter to life in a wintry prison.

Dean had tried to help, tried to coax his brother out of his frigid shell…but Sam remained. He’d found a new home there, found a way to thrive amidst the raging blizzard of grief and unforgivable guilt.

But here in Heaven, in your memories, Sam’s autumn. Right now the two of you are curled up on your sofa, mugs of apple cider hot in your hands while you watch TV, just like you’d done countless times before—but instead of cheesy horror movies, you’re watching clips of your life with him flash across the grainy screen.

There’s a sudden knock on the door. You turn to Sam, his knitted brows mirroring your own. You clunk your mug down on the coffee table, push off the sofa to take slow, cautious steps toward the door…close your hand around the brass knob…turn…and pull.

Sam stands before you, soft smile stretched across his face. You gape at him, bewildered, and then whip your head back toward the sofa—

The  _empty_  sofa.

You turn back—

“Hey, baby,” Sam breathes. “I’m home.”


End file.
